by Cat Knight
The party stopped while the camera took in the white washed dwelling and newly thatched roof.
“This is the cottage that, as far as Blair Wallace can tell, is the original residence that the Campbell family lived in prior to the Highland Clearings. The one that little Fiona and Lachlan called home before their family were driven off the land. Now that everything has come full circle, Ewan Campbell said he believes the long-reported ghost sightings will cease.”
Elspeth and crew continued up the path to the Lodge.
“Blair has kept the authenticity of the estate while aiming to provide the best possible experience for people who want to take in the beauty of the mountains and lochs. Day walks, canoe trips, and horse riding is all available.” Elspeth stopped outside the front entrance where its door stood open showing off the opulent hotel foyer. “The lodge has its own restaurant which is open to the public and Blair plans to grow her own produce for it where she can and source locally for everything else. In addition to solving one of the most enduring mysteries of the Highlands, Elleric Lodge will provide a boon to income for the area, bringing tourism dollars in and providing employment. This is Elspeth Stewart for Inverness, Live news.”
Moira, David, and Callum walked over.
“How was that?” Elspeth asked. “I’d say ye owe me one.”
She winked, looking exactly like Moira in that instant.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The headstone bore two broken roses with a simple inscription:
Fiona Campbell and Lachlan Campbell.
Circa 1820 aged 14 years and 12 years
Laid to rest together. Finally, Free.
Blair and Callum, Ewan and Morag, David and Moira stood at the Wallace family burial site at midday. Blair placed flowers and the bundle of letters written for the children on the small pile of bones that were wrapped in the Campbell colours and placed in a small wooden box. A vicar led the group in the Lord’s Prayer.
A warm breeze fluttered around Blair’s neck. Warmer than the sun could make it. Peace and gratitude intensified in Blair till she thought she would burst. Morag reached out and held Blair’s hand. One by one hands were held until a semi-circle formed around the final resting place of the children.
Blair spoke silently to the children.
“I am so sorry for what he did. He stole your life and I can’t give it back, but I hope from now till forever you have peace.”
After a moment the circle broke and Callum piled earth and rocks over the space. Ewan wiped tears from his old eyes.
“They’ll rest now, Blair. Ye did well.” Blair wondered at the knowing in Ewan’s voice, was it possible he had felt the children too?
Chapter Seventeen
Even though the house had no angst and Blair didn’t feel the children anymore she was more than ready to move to the gatehouse. Lugging her suitcase downstairs, she rolled it to the front door. Looking around she wondered if they hid in the corners, only quietly now. But the house was calm. The dwelling and the secrets it held were at peace. In a way, it was a different place without its anger and pain.
Blair could not say she would miss the children. They had created more terror than she had known was possible, and almost killed her. But she knew it was the constant re-enacting of their fate which had caused it. This drama would have played out forever if they had not been released. And as she was the last of the Wallace line, they needed her to help them find peace. In her heart, Blair knew she had been chosen to do this.
Bringing justice to the Campbells was part of her job in this life. And the gift to her was the new life she was forging. If things went well the lodge would be buzzing with activity, tourists would come, and her rooms would be full to capacity. Wistfully Blair looked around.
“Goodbye, Fiona. Goodbye, Lachlan. I believe you’ve found your peace and you are free move on with all the happiness you deserve.”
She stood waiting for something, anything. There was no change in atmosphere, no warm breeze, no sudden thoughts that were not her own. Blair picked her suitcase up and walked to the gatehouse.
“Hi there, Blair!” Callum called out. “Ye should’ve called for me. But here let me at least take it the rest of the way for ye.”
Blair allowed Callum to lift the suitcases, they didn’t roll well on grass and gravel. She walked into the small hallway, her shoes making a light tap on the ochre coloured tiles into her cosy kitchen. A small vase of wild flowers and a plate of shortbread sat on the table. A card from Moira and Ewan tucked to the side. Callum pulled something out from behind him.
“I bought ye a house warming gift. A genuine Scots teapot and matching teacups, since yer so fond of the stuff these days.
And a special selection of the finest teas to be found.” Blair cradled a fine white and blue cup in her hand admiring its delicate artwork. “And out back here.”
He waved his hand toward the back door. Blair walked out through the open door. A hand hewn wooden table and bench stood at the wall. Callum had installed a lattice with rambling rose that would grow to a wind break and was the namesake for her gate house. The view looked out to meadows where wildflowers grew over in stands among wispy grasses and the backdrop of the mountains. In the distance, the sun glinted off the grey shimmer of the Loch.
The warmth of the golden timber table and its thick dusty pink cushion set the nook alive. Blair’s hands flew to her mouth and she met his eyes.
“And its reclaimed timber and all...” he said sheepishly.
“So that’s why your own cottage isn’t fully done. You’ve been working on this.”
He looked up from under his long lashes, blue eyes shy. “So, do ye like it...?”
Chapter Eighteen
This was opening day. The tables were laden with traditional fare and with gourmet titbits prepared by Hamish, the new chef of Elleric Lodge.
The news coverage that Elspeth had provided had done its job and thanks to it, all of her staff positions were filled. Some of the locals had asked permission to visit the little grave site and Blair had never denied them. It helped to build the confidence that the children were laid to rest and hauntings were a thing of the past.
If any had expressed interest in employment she gave a preliminary informal interview on the spot, getting a feel for what that person might best contribute to the lodge. And thanks to the news broadcast the hotel was booked to capacity today and bookings were solid well into the tourist season.
Blair smoothed her hair back behind her shoulders. She wore a headband of red Wallace tartan in her hair, a straight line red cocktail dress with bolero jacket, and a simple string of cream pearls. Her high heels were already hurting a little bit, but she would bear it for today.
She walked the hotel entrance hall, the dining room, and the restaurant, making sure that everything was perfect.
Tourism brochures, business cards, vases on the tables, magazines in the reading nook. Not a touch of dust. She called a brief staff meeting and congratulated them on their fine work, and told the chef his kitchen would open for inspection to the public today.
For the first ten minutes Blair asked all the staff to remain and greet the first guests with her. They left the kitchen and followed Blair into the hall to meet the first of their guests.
She eyed Elspeth, Moriah, David, and Callum chatting over hors d'oeuvres and champagne. She didn’t take Callum for a champagne man, but he seemed to be doing fine. The group wandered over to Blair. Moira touched Blair’s tartan headband.
“It’s the Wallace tartan, I feel proud to wear it now.” Blair clinked her glass to Moira’s.
“And rightly so. But did ye know the whole clan tartan thing was just a Victorian invention, from the 19th Century?” Elspeth poked her in the side.
“That’s the trouble with historians, they know it all.” Elspeth rolled her eyes at her sister.
“Well its true.” Morag rolled her eyes back at Elspeth. “But it doesn’t matter and I still my wear my tartans anyway. And I boug
ht ye this for good luck Blair.” Moira pinned a sprig of oak to Blair’s dress.
The lasts of the guests had left and the staff were clearing away.
Blair was at the back exit of the kitchen stepping out of her high heels and slipping her sneakers on. A plate of goodies for the Campbell’s sat on the counter and Callum grabbed them.
“Hold on, I’ll come with ye.”
The old couple had enjoyed a small degree of fame since they had been plunged into the limelight. They answered questions politely and patiently about the family history, but both being shy by nature had declined to attend the function, preferring to enjoy the quiet of their cottage. Blair tied her shoelaces and they headed down to the cottage.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Things went well today. Ye’ve accomplished a lot here.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. I owe a lot of it to you. Even my life in the end.” She looked up sheepishly, her vulnerability showed. “Not everyone would have stayed on.”
“Ach. Don’t mention it. I’ve an inkling it was meant to be. Look what ye’ve done. Ye’ve righted a wrong and given peace to two tortured souls, provided jobs and restored a sad old place to something grand and lovely, and yer sharing it with the world.” It was Callum’s turn to look sheepish. “I think yer brilliant.” Blair felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
The afternoon sun shone a golden glow over the hills, their ruggedness softened by carpets of green. Birds called and whistled their songs of spring against the rush of the river as it made its way down to tumble over the falls. Callum lifted his hand and pointed to a silhouette on the hillside.
They stood completely still and watched a stag, head held high, and the points of his antlers outlined against the sky. Wildflowers were blooming in the meadow and they came to the junction in the path.
One trail leading left to the cottages and one leading to the right toward cemetery.
Blair bent down and picked a small bunch of flowers and reached out her hand for Callum. He took it and they walked together down the path to the where the children were laid to rest. Blair placed the flowers on the grave.
“Callum, do you feel them?” He nodded.
“They’re watching us. But they’re happy.” After a moment more, his words rushed out. “Look, Blair.”
She followed the direction of his hand and saw them. Fiona and Lachlan stood at the foot of large oak glowing in hues of silver white, and they were not alone. A woman stood with them, her long black hair flowing behind her in the wind. The children were holding her hands, she turned and they walked with her fading into invisibility. Somewhere on the wind came a whale’s song, no longer mournful, but lilting joyously over the cliffs.
THE END
THE HAUNTING OF GRAYSON HOUSE
CAT KNIGHT
©Copyright 2017
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
19th April 2017
Grayson House
Outskirts of Westminster
London
“Whatcha got hidden away, darlin’?” Boo shoved the old woman back against the wall, pointing to the rubbish bin with empty food cans. “Where’s your grub at?”
Boo couldn’t believe his luck when he had heard about the house. He’d been cautious at first. A derelict place like this could shelter a lot of people, but the old girl was the only one in here. Holding his own in a fight wasn’t a problem, but it was much easier just to come in and take it over.
Which is exactly what he had done. She hadn’t acknowledged him when he burst in ready for trouble, or even when he spoke.
“Not too bad of a joint, luv. How come you got this place all to yourself an all?”
She was talking to someone though. Old crazy. He’d taken up residence on the couch. Slept on it last night, even had a blanket. The old lady had freaked, but there were other places she could kip.
He just didn’t fancy sleeping on that old mattress in one of the other rooms. It looked like it had a nest of mice in it. Nope, he would take the couch and it would be his for as long as he liked to stay. And judging by the way things were here, that might be a good while. It was dry and spacious for a start, and the old lady had a friend. A slip of a thing, a do-good-ing social worker who brought the old girl food. He’d met her yesterday. A big strapping fella like him needed a good meal. He expected the next time she came there’d be extra - maybe the old girl would get a feed too. He laughed a satisfied chortle to himself. But that was yesterday and he was hungry now. Boo moved his head closer. His eyes darkened.
“I’m hungry. I said where’s your food at?” His tobacco curled in her face. The old woman edged away from him, clinging to the wall, and entered the kitchen.
“Leave. Leave. Leave”
“Is that the only bleedin’ words ya know? I ain’t goin no-where darlin’. It’s you and me forever. Awww don’t look so upset.” Boo shoved the old woman again and she fell back against the kitchen sink. “Give me what you got.”
He had to tear out everything in the cupboards to find it, she’d had it hidden all over behind papers, boxes, and Gawd knew what. He lay now stretched out on the couch, full of baked beans, getting ready to fart, and, at the same time, taking a swig from the cough syrup. What a find that was.
If he hadn’t bullied her for the food that little prize oasis would not be in his sticky hands now.
He lifted the bottle to his mouth it was giving him a buzz, but he needed more. Strange how it felt so freezing on his lips and his tongue. He kept it there a minute trying to warm it up, his whole body shuddering with the cold. An awful pressure began constricting his throat until his breath came in short gasps.
The crushing feeling increased. Panicking, Boo jumped to his feet, dropped the bottle, tearing at his throat with both hands. Breath came shorter all the while the pressure increased. Dark spots started to appear in front of his eyes and vision blurred. He pushed his arms out for the wall to support himself but the distance was too great. Boo fell to his knees doubled over at the waist. Immediately the invisible force lifted from his throat and he stay there momentarily recovering his breath. The bottle caught Boo’s eye. That juice is powerful. He stood and walked toward the door for some air. The old lady was muttering to herself.
“He can have it, I don’t care.” He turned to look at her. Her face was twisted up, anxiety in every old wrinkle.
“No. No. Don’t do that, just let him leave.” He fell about laughing, holding his stomach in mirth. She turned to Boo.
“Leave. Leave. Leave.”
But Boo laughed at her.
“I’m not going anywhere darlin’, just getting some air.”
He clutched hold of the door knob. It burned ice cold in his hand, refusing to turn. Terror passed over his face when he realised he was unable to let go.
Struggling hard at the door, Boo was unprepared when his head jerked back and cold hands grabbed him by the throat and flung him to the floor.
Fighting dizziness, he looked around for the old woman who was nowhere near him, but was half way up the decaying stairwell making her way to the upper level. Unseen hands closed around his face and eyes. Unable to see now, he closed his eyes, trying to shut down his imagination. Shouldn’t a drank so much of that stuff. A pressure started in over his right eye. He tried to open it, but it would not. With his left eye, he glanced around.
“Is anyone here?” No one answered, he seemed to be alone. Boo began to twist and turn trying to rid himself of the force that kept his right eye closed. “Stop. Stop.” He pleaded to no one.
The pain increased to excruciating levels until Boo’s screams roared through the house. The sound of his eye popping out from its socket was lost in the din. He began to whimper and shake uncontrollably. Fingers gripped his ankles and he felt himself being dragged from the front door back into the sitting room and pulled onto the couch.
Soft whispers and giggles sounded around him. Struggling to sit up he realised he was unable to move his arms or
shoulders, but he could lift his head. The wet of his eyeball felt cold on his cheek. With his one good eye Boo saw a knitting needle that had been in the kitchen drawer floating through the air. It pushed doggedly into his ear. He screamed and screamed until the needle had reached the other side, and then he screamed no more.
Chapter One
Two Months Earlier
Westminster City
London
The last fortnight of Anne’s new job had been spent roaming the streets talking to the homeless residents of Westminster. It was time for the annual rough sleeper count and part of her duties included checking off known names and adding new ones. On the streets Anne fit in easily because she had a natural empathy, born of being a survivor herself, besides she didn’t look ‘official’ thanks to a preference for very casual attire and some fierce scares.
A fatal car accident involving a drunk driver had left Anne alive but badly injured. It required five months of operations and rehab to recover the use of her limbs, but she supposed the residual limp was a small price for what might have happened. Yet the burning car had made a terrible mess of her legs. Those scars would never be fully removed, nor would the damage to her pelvis that rendered her infertile now.
The cut that ran along her chin line and the jagged one across her forehead were faint after several rounds of plastic surgery, but to Anne they were as rude as the day they were forged on her skin.
They had been lucky to make it out of that car accident alive – that was what the ambo’s had said to her and her father. As part of her healing she practiced gratitude for her life every day, but the wounds went deep and in Anne’s mind it would take a special person to love the disfigured body she was left with. Her father and his new wife assured her that the scars on her face were barely noticeable, neither was the limp, except when she was tired and she could always adopt.
